


one more word and you won't survive

by MissFaber



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Noir, Angry Sex, Assassins, Assassins AU, Enemies and Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Rare Pair, Rare Pairings, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, asoiafrare, don't be fooled by the fancy description this is just a smut fic, idk who i am anymore!! oh well!!!, me @ god: we still cool?, noir, yara and theon are japanese and aged up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 05:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissFaber/pseuds/MissFaber
Summary: Bloodsport is nothing to them. Well, it’s not nothing to Ned, but he’s a man who follows orders. Or is it Cersei he’s following, assassin long since gone rogue? They constantly find themselves on opposite sides, pistols drawn—but they aretogether,in glamorous and gritty cities all over the world, and there are better ways to resolve antagonism, anyway.





	one more word and you won't survive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlibbertiGiblet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlibbertiGiblet/gifts), [anniebibananie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebibananie/gifts).

> Work title from "Eyes on Fire" Blue Foundation (recommended listening!)
> 
> [Here is the accompanying photoset! what a vibe](https://missfaber.tumblr.com/post/187884408671/one-more-word-and-you-wont-survive-ned-x-cersei)
> 
> This is for @flibbertigiblet, fellow nedsei enthusiast, who encouraged me to write this fic and listened to my identity crisis during the fevered hours it took to create. Thanks honey! I hope it's everything you wanted. And @anniebibananie, your milestone event and nedsei fic concept is what got me hooked on the pairing in the first place! thanks, I hate it!! (jk I'm revolted at how much I enjoyed this)

It kept happening, and every time it was a collision of the worst sort. The two of them, soaking on a rooftop in the rain in various states of undress. Cold metal jabbing into his hip from the holster she still wore. The first time Ned realized he was fucking her with her pistol still on he had reeled, pulling out of her and scrambling back, unconsciously heading in the direction of the puddle of his own pants where his own weapons lay. But Cersei Lannister wasn't an idiot, and he quickly learned not to leave her before she allowed him to.

_"I_ decide when," she hissed into his ear after climbing on top of him and leaning over, biting his ear so hard he yelped. "Got that?”

When she pulled back her there was a smear of red across her bottom lip. His blood. He thought he could feel it tickling his ear, though that could be the rain, or sweat. His gaze honed in on that stain on her plush mouth in the darkness. He reared up when she sunk onto him, pulling a cry from her. _Yes._ He gripped her waist hard, digging his fingers into her flesh, hoping she'd wear the shapes of him the next day and the next, when she'd be half a world away. 

He hadn't been in any real danger, not from the pistol at least. Besides, he had a feeling if Cersei wanted to kill him, she would use one of her special poisons, the ones his boss ragged on him for still not knowing who supplied them to her. _A memorable kill._ That was her way.

It shouldn't happen, but it did— again and again and once more, night and heat and her.

They were in Tokyo. Ned instantly sensed her presence, even before he saw her across the dimly lit parlor. It was a spike up his back, indistinguishable from fear—or arousal— or the jump he _hated,_ vehemently denied he felt after a kill. She was in a dress so sinful, red and pressed to parts of her like a second skin, he was surprised every head in the room didn't whirl in her direction. But Cersei was an expert with attention, knew how to garner the exact amount she needed, knew how to draw it to her like pulling a rope. She stuck to the shadows— a beautiful woman, yes, but a beautiful woman among many— and moved without drawing suspicion. Ned watched her and, fool he was, wondered much too late why she was here. Who she was here to kill.

He snapped his gaze from her form and it was like a fog clearing from his head. He took in the room discreetly, though there was no evidence of a disturbance. Maybe she didn't do anything yet. 

But maybe she did.

Ned sucked in an oath, keeping it locked behind his teeth. Was she targeting the Greyjoy siblings? Ned sought them out, found them still where they were a few minutes ago; sharing a couch, Yara smoking a cigar. Could a cigar be poisoned? He was ashamed he didn't know for sure. He crept closer to them, searching the low table in front of them for drinks. Cersei was unpredictable, a paradox; she was capable of a delicate touch when she wanted, but possessed a flair for the dramatic. She could do anything. She could have _done_ anything.

He noticed the phone at Yara's ear, a nearby butler holding the base on a silver tray. Suddenly she turned sideways and leaned towards her brother, the silky black waterfall of her hair obscuring them from view. Ned moved closer, heart pounding, and heard her whispers. 

"...he's dead, Theon, _dead!_ Euron won't be after us anymore! The estate, the accounts are ours—"

He met Cersei's eyes through clouds of smoke. She was already looking at him. This far he couldn't see the shape her mouth held— and he wanted to. He imagined her smirking.

His feet carried him to her before he registered their intention. She turned and led him through dark corridors, knowing he would follow. It was all he could do to temper his pace. He would chase, but he wouldn't run. 

"You stole my kill.” He spoke when it was just the two of them in the mud room, of all places. Elegant Cersei surrounded by dripping umbrellas and muddy boots. 

"Do you expect an apology?" She circled him as if he was prey. "You'll be sorely disappointed." 

"I don't know what to expect. I didn't expect _you_ here. You're supposed to be in Amsterdam." Instantly he regretted the clumsy words, as her eyes widened and glittered with delight.

"You've been keeping tabs on me." 

He didn't lose his footing. To do so was fatal. "You're the one tracking me. Why else would you be here?" 

He jerked out of his place before she could think up some clever retort, disturbing the circles she was drawing with her heels. He couldn't see them, the long train of the dress obscuring her feet, but he could imagine them— black, perhaps, or an ironic white, or red as blood. 

When he was standing in front of her he took the silk of the dress in his fist and pulled up, up, up. Her heels were black. The stockings too. He pulled up further, knowing he wouldn't be satisfied until he could see where the stockings ended. A garter was clipped onto the lace. He fingered the lace, then tugged the thin strap, watching with a delighted shiver as it snapped back against her flesh.

Her eyes were more black than green when he looked at her. Her lips curved. "I don't know where you're getting your information. Me, in Amsterdam? Don't be ridiculous." 

_Let's move on._ He heard the command as clearly as if she'd said it. And he wanted to, oh, he wanted to. He took the lace at her thighs between his fingertips again, rubbed it. He wondered how easily it would tear. He traced the heated skin above, softer than the silk of her dress, and felt the cold jolt of metal. She had a sheathed blade tucked into her stocking, of _course _she did. 

"I expect gratitude," she hissed, and Ned felt the heat of her core where his fingertips still skimmed her thigh, teasing. She was desperate. _Good._

"In a minute," he whispered, lips trailing her jaw. "Who ordered you to kill him?" 

"No one orders me about. You know that." 

Ned backed her to the wall and widened her stance with each of his strides, shoving his legs between hers. He threw the dress up and over, the red silk cascading over his elbow— he heard a tear but neither of them minded it— and shoved his hand between her thighs. 

He gasped against her neck as if it was he being touched. Heat and stickiness coated his fingertips. She wasn't wearing panties. Her thighs shook around his hand, widening even further— then tightening, trapping him. Ned didn't mind. He wriggled his hand against the heat of her flesh, finding the slippery slope and curling two fingers into her, 

Her long, drawn out moan tasted sweet as victory.

He fucked her well as he was able, with her thighs clenched around his hand like a vice grip, limiting his movements. "Open up," he muttered, shoving his leg between hers to force it, making his intent clear. "Let me do it right." 

"More of this—" —she spread her legs gladly, obscenely, letting him bend slightly to crook one of her knees under his elbow, opening her completely— "—less of _this—"_ —she waved a hand wildly and struck his mouth, almost a slap. 

He reared back, _growling,_ shocked but not shocked— had she ever struck his face before? He couldn't remember. He rolled his hips against her, furious at the suit that felt like rough starch on his heated skin, and added a third finger. 

She keened. He pistoned into her, not at all gentle, wanting to fucking _get her off_ so he could finally, _finally _thrust himself into her, make her pay. 

He realized he was saying those words out loud when she whimpered and said "yes, _yes,"_ and tightened in that way he knew. He withdrew his fingers and pinched her clit, watching her face as she came. Let her clench around nothing. She deserved it. 

If her thighs were shaking before they were like leaves blowing in the wind now, as she unwrapped her leg from his arm and lowered it to the ground. He stayed in her space, his dress still held up by his arm, the curls above her cunt visible when he glanced down. 

They looked at each other. His mouth was open, unable to close around his pants, hers too, and for an insane moment he thought he should kiss her. 

Her weight shifted, startling him from his insane thoughts— she had lifted her arms from where they'd lay against his shoulders. She freed her hair from its chignon and it tumbled past her shoulders, into his hands. He rubbed the silky strands, softer than he would have believed. He had never see it loose. It had always been a golden crown upon her head, now it was wild as a lion's mane. 

"Who gets to see you like this?..." It was a claim, and a question. His voice was full of wonder, his eyes too as he lowered himself to his knees, level with the golden curls between her legs. 

He tugged her legs apart until he could see the puffy, pink lips. _Not enough._ Again he drew her leg up, settling her knee over his shoulder this time. He inhaled the scent and sight of her. He leaned in, magnetized, and dragged his tongue across her glistening cunt.

She shook around him. He tilted his head and sucked her flesh between his teeth, delighting in the sounds that left her. He licked up her cream until his tongue was coated, until his nose breathed in her musk more than air. He had never tasted opium, but as he curled his tongue into her he thought he understood the draw. 

He could have inhaled her forever, but he was rutting against the air, cock desperate for release, and as he ate her he felt so close. That wouldn’t happen tonight— he already knew what he wanted to do. He would stain her pretty dress. 

So he pulled his mouth from her and stood. The whine she released was an added advantage. 

He was inside her in a second— pants dropped to his ankles, her knee looped over his arm, holding her weight up against the wall, her mouth stretched open to accommodate her sounds, her tight heat around his cock rolling his eyes back into his skull, her nails biting into his skin even through his shirt, her breast spilling over her ruined dress, he thought he could see the start of a tawny nipple and curved his back in a way that shouldn't have been possible to free it with his teeth, to lave his tongue on the hardened bud, he straightened and she licked a stripe up his neck, all the while his hips _snapping—_

"Don't ever hit me again." A wild sentence occurred to him, a string of words that, lined up in _that_ order, made no sense. "Or I'll stop." 

"You _will?!"_ Her eyes were crazed, her lips stretching into a wide grin. "Oh—_ohhh!_ That's rich." 

"I will." Her challenge made him sure. "Never again."

She dragged a fingertip over the seam of his lips— he drew it into his mouth without thinking, sucking hard, and she laughed. "Could you live without _this?" _

"Could _you?"_ He hated that the force was sapped from his words by the way he had to shape them around her intruding finger in his mouth. 

"I could stop anytime," she spat. It was comical to see her nasty, _disdainful,_ as he filled her with his cock. Only she could manage it. 

"Really?" He pulled himself out of her nearly all the way, watching as her bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth and her eyes melted with need. He waited a moment longer than what she'd allow, risking her wrath, then drove into her so swift and hard she threw her head back in a silent cry. Ned curved into her, drawn by the long line of her throat, exposed as she never let herself be. He tasted her first, trailing his tongue over the skin, feeling her tremble in his arms. She was musky, not sweet. Then he sunk in his teeth. 

She cried out, hands curling over his biceps and squeezing, _squeezing,_ an echo of the vice grip of her hot, wet cunt that was suddenly _sopping,_ and oh god she loved this, _he_ loved this, and _love_ did not belong here—

They do this, even though they shouldn't, and they never hurt each other, even though they must. 

* * *

"You don't have to do this anymore, Cersei." 

Tyrion was nursing his wine on her magnificent dining table, a custom job. He acted like he didn't notice it, or the fur draped across the high back of his chair, or the wine that was probably the most expensive he'd ever had. He didn't want to credit her.

"Come back." Now Tyrion's voice was almost unrecognizable to her; soft. "Come back to Monaco."

Cersei thought of her childhood home, the mansion and the grounds, the gilded furniture, the lion's head brass knocker on the outer doors of the estate.

"We're safe. We'll take care of you." 

"I can take care of myself." It was just like her little brothers to patronize her, and she knew Jaime was involved in this too. Possibly, _probably,_ it had been solely Jaime’s pushing that brought Tyrion here now. She wondered why he hadn’t delivered this message himself.

"Then do it back home," he snapped, patience apparently at its end. "What's the difference? You can have all the finery you like there too. You won't have to kill for it." 

"You think I want that? To be some kind of kept woman?" The thought made her want to rip her hair out. Fleeting images of that life crossed her mind, sad and devoid of color. 

"I don't need to be saved." She knocked back her wine. "I don't _want_ to be saved. _I like it." _

"You can't." Tyrion's eyes were round with horror. "You can't _really." _

She wanted to snap at him, to say something _truly_ horrifying, but reigned herself in. To do so would sate her anger but it would also render her vulnerable— to reveal how killing _felt,_ the raw power that was so old and animal, a different kind of orgasm. 

Then, as if he'd read her mind— "I've seen Eddard Stark." 

Cersei's mind reeled— how could their paths have crossed? True, their families had always been connected in the way great families were, but why would Tyrion have seen Ned _specifically? _And why now?

She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of asking, but he stayed so wretchedly silent. "Why?" 

"He needed some consulting," Tyrion shrugged, clearly pleased with his vague response. She rolled her eyes and poured another glass of wine.

"Are you going to ask me how he is?" Tyrion poked up his pug nose in a way that had Cersei's face heating up.

She jerked her head away before he could see the reaction, if he hadn't already seen, and clipped him on the shoulder as she walked past him. His answering groan was satisfying. Only then could she look at him. "What was that?"

_"Ow!"_ He glared at her, but she could see his irritation had already passed. “Will you think about it, at least?”

"Maybe I'll visit," she conceded, not sure if she was being sincere. "But I'm busy at the moment." She'd finally found him, the silver-haired heir. A shiver of anticipation traveled down her spine. She had already started making her plans.

* * *

It was summer in Milan when her actions finally caught up with her. 

Ned Stark's grey eyes, hard and cold as a blade. The rawness in his voice, the tremble of his mouth. "You killed him." 

She would not let him shake her. She would not let him taint her victory. 

"I did the world a favor."

He stood against the backdrop of a stone fountain at sunset, the spire of a church piercing the orange-pink sky behind him, rivulets of crystal water forming high arches, an image too idyllic for his anger. 

"Did you know he was my sister's husband?" Cersei wondered if he knew he was yelling. He looked like a man who’d lost control. "Did you know that before you killed him?"

"He _raped_ her, he took her from—"

"That's not the way she tells it." 

Cersei steeled her jaw, determined to remain cool, unbothered. "Rhaegar was a monster."

"He was the _father of her child!" _

"He was a rapist, practically a pedophile—"

"He jilted you." His lip curled into a pitying smile, and Cersei felt a part of her die. _I have never seen cruelty from him._ But all men were cruel, it seemed— even Ned Stark. "That's the only reason you did it, isn't it?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about." She was surprised the words were at all legible as she pushed them through tightly gritted teeth.

_"You had no right!" _

It was a roar mighty as any lion's, and it shook something free in her chest. In one fluid motion her pistol was in her hand, pointed.

Silence enveloped her. She could hear nothing, not even the streams of water. She wondered if it was the same for him. 

* * *

She was a vision, white summer dress and lips painted pink. Gold hair lit into a halo by the dying rays of the sun. For the first time he looked at her and thought, _murderer. _

Then her pistol was in her hand, the threat in her eyes. He wanted to laugh. He didn't. "You won't do it." 

Ned thought he heard her jaw click across the feet that separated them. _Impossible._

"Try me."

"You _won't_ shoot me." It was the only thing left, the only law held upright in their rotten world. No matter who he served, no matter what chaotic choices she made, no matter who either of them killed. They were almost always on opposite sides, but they did _not_ hurt each other. 

"Say it." The sun had sunk lower, stealing the warmth that lit her just a moment before. "Say what you think of me now." 

He swallowed past the pain of his abandoned and grieving sister, her fatherless son. 

"I don't know what to think," he said. "I thought I knew you." 

But that had been a mistake, he saw that now. Cersei Lannister was not such a simple thing as _knowable. _

In the half second between the curl of her finger over the trigger and the bullet piercing his side, he noticed inane things— a crack shaped like lightning in the stone beneath him, the hem of her dress swishing around her knees. 

Then, pain. 

* * *

Winter came, and with it a new life for Ned Stark. He had spent months healing his body while his mind raged, but came out the other side committed to changing his life. For Lyanna. For Jon. 

Yet it seemed nothing had changed at all, because Cersei Lannister stood at the end of the alley, illuminated by the white light of a street lamp.

"What..." Ned floundered, unprepared to see _her _in Madrid, unprepared for the sight of her anywhere. She was bundled in a coat, face tucked into the high collar, but the glint off her head was unmistakable gold. 

"Ned."

Anger curled over him like a wave. He felt his fists tighten at his sides. 

"Ned," she said, low and filthy, and he hated the way the sound wrapped around him like a fur. 

"Fuck you." He was venomous because he was weak around her; astounded to discover this was still so. Months of training his mind to hate her, to view her with nothing but disgust if the day ever came, dissipated like smoke. "Stay away from me." 

_"Ned..."_ There was a fever pitch to her voice, and did she usually say his name so much? She took a step closer then stopped at the warning flash in his eye.

Instead she peeled off her clothes exactly where she stood until she was naked in the cold winter air.

Ned watched each item of clothing drop to the sodden ground with what he hoped looked like detachment, even if his breath came quick. Her nipples were hard— _it's the cold. _

"Do whatever you want to me." 

"Is that supposed to be penance?" He took a step forward, throwing his arms out in a futile movement meant to express months of frustration. _"You shot me." _

"And I'm an excellent shot." Her eyes blazed. She was feral. _Cersei._ "Think about that." 

"Am I supposed to be comforted?" He took another step forward. He told himself he was intimidating her, not getting sucked in. "Should I thank you for shooting my side instead of my heart?" 

"I don't care how you feel about it. So long as you know the truth." 

What truth? Her words were cold as the winter air, but everything else burned— her eyes, his skin in her presence. He shook his head— _don't do it, don't do it—_ before launching forward. His strides ate the ground between them until he had her throat in his hand. 

He squeezed, just for a moment, before turning her around and fumbling to free his cock. God damn him, he was already hard, leaking at the tip, and when he swiped a clammy hand between Cersei's legs he found her soaked. 

He fucked her from behind, against the hard narrow length of the street lamp. One arm curled around her waist to hold her to him while the other hand gripped the lamp to keep them both standing. He felt her muscles clench and shiver around him when she started rubbing her clit. He licked the skin of her shoulder and her back, whatever skin he could reach, _desperate,_ and when her musk was in his mouth it was like he'd never been without it. 

"You're unbelievable," he panted into her hair, mindless, not sure at all what he was referring to. All he knew was plunging into her. "You're so— and I can't— for the life of me, I _can't—"_

She twisted in his arms, not enough to disturb their rhythm, just enough to look at him. To pierce him with those green eyes. "Don't stop trying," 

He came with a shudder, and she followed him. 

* * *

He finds her in London, months after he has stopped looking.

As always, Cersei seems to have found the only patch of sunlight in even the darkest place, just so it can bounce off her hair in the way that always makes his mouth dry. _It's no less than I deserve,_ she'd say, chin tilting upwards, daring him to say otherwise.

They were in the basement of the London Library, the stacks seemingly abandoned besides the two of them. The moment her eyes met his she jumped, instantly snapping the book in her grip shut. Ned crossed his arms over his chest, reveling in the moment. It wasn’t every day he got to catch her off guard.

She was familiar, but not. All long lines and superiority, but she curved her body away from him. He knew she was going to leave.

He took her hand before she could.

They fucked long and slow between the shelves, among the books and specks of dust floating in shafts of light. She came in his lap, squeezing four fingers. She came on his face. She came on his cock. He came with his face pressed, open-mouthed, to her neck. 

Later, they talked, out in the spring warmth. 

"She was a child. He took advantage of her." _You were right._ It was the closest he could come to saying it. Ned had known it, and he didn't know why he wanted Cersei to hear it now. It wasn't forgiveness. Whatever it was, he knew she didn't deserve it. 

"My reasons weren't entirely selfless," she conceded. _You were right, too. _

Their walk only lasted a few minutes more. They had shared everything there was to share; there was no more reason to stay. She had a whole world to return to, the multitudes her life held when she wasn't with him. It seemed wild that others spent such leisurely time with each other, whittled away hours sharing meals and so many words that words must eventually lose all meaning. 

"In a month's time, I'll be in Vienna." The words left her in a breathless rush, so unlike her usual manner of speaking.

"I know," he said, and the glimmer in her emerald eyes echoed the words on his lips; _I'll find you there. _


End file.
